The language of music
by Kit Marin
Summary: <html><head></head>Marriage, Divorce and Afterwards. A short view of Hungary's affection towards Roderich. AusHun</html>
1. Chapter 1

It made her heart ache...beautiful moments like this...

He twirled her so effortlessly, their steps matching perfect time as the music rang around them, echoing off the glistening walls and flowing around them in waves of notes. She'd learned, through him, how to see these waves and relate them to the beauty of the world, how to read the music and give into it...he'd taught her to connect her heart to each key of the piano in his home and make a masterpiece. Her fingers weren't nearly so talented as his own, but with his constant playing alongside the storm or glow of his eyes, the tightening of his shoulders of the soft swaying of his head...she learned how to listen to the soul of the piece and the spirit of the player. He gave her a window into himself...and she was more than happy what she'd seen.

Whether it was his music that won her or his overall demeanor, she honestly didn't know. He was gentle and kind, calm and always reserved from acting too far in any one direction. Gilbert seemed bent on doing nothing less than utterly destroying this soft silky nature of his and she wanted nothing more than to possess it.

Their marriage, arranged by their bosses, was both a blessing and a curse. She got to hold his hands and stare back up into those beautiful eyes and for the first time in her life...she was completely blown away by a first kiss. Their binding kiss. A kiss that tasted like mint and sugar, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and timed by the mutual beating of their hearts. She felt that, for a moment, they truly connected as one. As man and woman, not as countries fulfilling their duty.

But the moment broke as their kiss did.

After all she knew him better than anyone at this point.

She saw how Gilbert angered him and how improper he could act first thing in the morning or when he was stressed. She knew how he liked his tea and how obsessed with his cakes he was and how close he lives with the notes his fingers could create. She learned his hands by watching them and knew his eyes and what they hid every time she gazed into them...and now they looked soft...but as if they were in pain.

A sour note.

That night he apologized to her for what they'd been made to do, but what he was saying sounded...oddly rehearsed. Of course the man had been in several political marriages by now so he was probably used to partners going on a small 'why-me?' spree after the ceremony. Still, it hurt, even though she laughed it off and said goodnight as calmly as possible, to be left alone on her wedding night.


	2. Chapter 2

Life went on as before.

She sat nearby his piano to watch him and his mistress dance, listening to the bothered, slightly too hard presses on the keys that she'd only been able to notice more recently, how dark his eyes were whenever he opened them and how rarely he paused to take a nibble from the cake on the table nearby. What they'd done honestly bothered him...

It made her think.

What part of it did he dislike? Was it being forced into another marriage or was it that it was with her? She hadn't noticed any problems with his music before so...she decided to test it.

She sat with him the first day, closing her eyes to listen to every note and how it was played...but the second day she gave him distance and listened again.

Crisp, clear and clean, not a care in the world. His ivory wings spread and flew over air cables and a planet of smooth polished wood. His content happiness radiated through the house and bounced off the walls...shattering her ability to smile until she had to when he addressed her.

She was bothering him.

Her presence was making him jerky and unhappy...

And she'd made the mistake of falling in love with him.

He wouldn't kiss her often and they never shared a bed...it all made the ring feel like a cold biting weight on her hand, even though the thought of removing it pained her more than she would have thought possible before this. He made himself a part of her life and even if she was disturbing his; he still belonged there with her...didn't he? It felt right...to be held by him, to be twirled around dance floors with him, to taste the fruit and cake on his lips whenever he did kiss her and hear the melody of his voice whenever he had something he really needed to say. Every piece of her husband was beautiful and to be cherished. He was a composer and a composition in one. A masterpiece of balance, male and melody.

A prize. A poem persona. A silk touch over a stone wall.

And she wanted what was behind it...not what she got...

Divorce.


	3. Chapter 3

Even now, after their marriage ended, she spent a fair amount of time around him...and it always hurt to know how free his music became, how easy he seemed while playing it. Her presence didn't matter anymore now that the band was gone from his hand. Their bosses freed him of her affections...and freed her of some of her light.

Perhaps that's a bit too dramatic...

He still made her smile, and when he smiled at her she felt the world fade and music replace it in the void. His warmth was soothing, comforting, embracing her emotions as well as her flesh and as they danced here...it was enough.

When he twirled her and brought her back against his chest...she was still in love, and for a moment she fooled herself into thinking he loved her in return. For a moment he was her husband again and they were the only two people in the house, the only two that mattered.

One body and mind working together from opposite ends. Each a hand on the irony floor, each an eye over the notes of their life's music, each needed to complete the beautiful art of love...

Until the echoes died from the instrument...and he was gone again.

Longing for him was beyond words...a single key placed in a large theater, a lone note without a melody, hands of an artist bound in cloth and splint only inches from their purpose...

But he was happy now...wasn't he?


	4. Chapter 4

Elizaveta sighed and sat at the piano in her home, admiring the instrument that was so much like his own, brought here so he could play for her whenever he visited...

She usually didn't bother to try to learn, but once he left...it was too quiet, and after some fumbling to find where keys were placed, she took to playing by ear...by heart.

He taught her to see emotion in a work and now she was putting his lessons to good use. Her playing was not nearly so complicated as his, but she could still make the walls dance with her if she tried hard enough and didn't leave her practice to her shadow.

Now she sunk onto the bench, slowly lifting the veil off his true bride, his only one true love...it was foolish to resent an instrument like this, it really was.

Her fingertips ran over the keys, playing the emotion she wanted in her head...slowly moving her hands to match it.

Heavy notes rich with her pain, her love, her joy and the suffering of losing it rang through her home, dancing around her and embracing her to its heartbeat. It spun her in conflicts and protected her from falling to the darkness beneath her shoes, kissed her heart and tossed her head...she was drowning in it...addicted to it...

"Elizaveta"

She must have jumped two inches straight up off the bench when his voice cut through her music, hitting at least four bad notes at once in her surprise. When her eyes found him in the doorway he looked...troubled...greatly troubled and worried about her but...impressed all the same.

"...that's enough."

"Roddy I-"

"You don't have to explain" he gently cooed, moving to take a seat beside her on the bench...a few awkward moments of just resting there and he set his hands on the keys...

He wasn't moving...why...? Oh...

Her hands trembled before setting back in their places...they played together...

Soft unsure pats of water, twirling rivers in midair and finally a vast ocean with tossing waves and glittering surfaces. Whirling hurricanes and tender breezes...it was probably the first time someone had resolved conflicts like this...the first time so much had been explained through such a strong mutual understanding...

She was explaining without speaking to him...and the slight tremble of his fingers told her he understood. After all, in their languages the words might be misunderstood or taken for granted, their power lost to the pollution of doubt and the smog of their own ideas...but she was speaking directly to his soul now. Penetrating his emotions through the mistress he held so dear...he couldn't misunderstand or push it away like this.

When they finally stopped playing he didn't look at her, didn't say anything...but his hand settled over hers...

A lone note echoed...

...and birthed an orchestra.


End file.
